Chaos, thy name is Cuinn

I'm not even going to look for the last time I posted. And I mean posted, not just threw some photos up as I ran past the computer doing any number of other things. And by run, I mean literally. It's getting a bit ridiculous I think when one's hands are so full one is actually running from one end of the house to the other to get things done, but I do. Often. Not any more.

Unless, of course, it's a situation a bit like this morning wherein the kidlet who had been happily towing the husband's Sennheiser headphones around the lounge suddenly gets a thoughtful look on his face and then takes off, headphones firmly grasped in hand, up the hallway like he's got a devil on his tail, in the direction of the dogs' water bowl in the bathroom. One can only assume that the fate of the headphones had I not managed to grab them in time would have been something along the lines of what the bath mat had already suffered - a bath.

Anyway, posting. I was turning over all things bloggy (well, all things my bloggy) the other day as I was fidgeting over the hiatus a favourite blog had taken (ok, in all honesty, at the moment it's the only blog in my world and it's only managing to be followed because it's mainly pictures. Thank heavens for pictures) over the holiday period and feeling just a wee tad abandoned and unloved and my thoughts curled back to here. My poor, neglected blog. Woops.

I was thinking that I really only have 2 choices - shut the blog down to pics and commentary only, or start writing again. I don't want to shut it down, so that left one option. Start writing. Try and think in a straight line. Try to then write in a straight line. Give it a whirl. Be determined. Beee ... bloggy. Worth a go at the very least - it can't get much more useless anyway, can it?

Still, never mind, to get back into the groove there should be a lovely anxiety laden post or two coming right up while I swallow rescue remedy by the bottle-full as I contemplate family matters. Specifically, that we were advised to get another kidlet underway when Cuinn is 18 months. Cuinn is a year in a couple of weeks. Which leaves me another 6 months. Less till booking it in. To that of course, in case you're wondering, it's a resounding HELL no, but you know, thought has to be given for to the when in that case, and that scares the crap out of me, so there you go. I shall talk around and around in circles in front of you, my apparently very loyal (and bored too I imagine) audience.

We want Cuinn to have a sibling, and the intention is to give Cuinn a sibling, if for no other purpose than to try and absorb some of the energy the manic little ginger gives off from morning till night, but I can say that without a doubt this has been the hardest, most challenging year of my life, and doing that to myself again, quite deliberately, gives me the shudders by the bucket load. Nice'n'selfish.

Maybe the next kid won't be ginger ...? I'm sure half the problem is the gingerness ... Blinking gingers.

Oh! Oh! Before I go any further, there is a blog and a website that you absolutely must go and looksee at:

The Sartorialist and The Book Depository

The Sartorialist needs no introduction, nor blathering. He is what he is, and that is awesome. He makes me want to get on a plane, and be sitting somewhere in Italy with coffee, watching people go by. If you know me, you'll appreciate the impressiveness of me wanting to get on a plane anywhere. Such is the magic he weaves though, and of course, I'd want to go there with an empty Mastercard for after I've finished my coffee. Heh. I've collected his book too, and I've been pouring. Yay for pictures!

The Book Depository is similarly awesome, but in a buy-your-books-sooooo-much-cheaper kind of way. There's a book I've been salivating over for some time after spotting it sitting beautifully on a shelf at Sabato promising me all manner of deliciousness, if I only purchased it and starting churning out yummies. Except it was 85 bucks give or take, so delicious yes, but hiiiideously expensive (I know. I'm amused at my horror too. It's only a ladle and a bit, but I am a changed woman (ish). One that's just had to put 2 new tyres on the car. Ouch), so off I trundled to the interweb and looked up The Book Depository after Pal Mel recommended it to me, and booya! The book is on its way for I think it was about $43.00. Wicked! It was 95 bucks at Whitcoulls. Mwah ha Whitcoulls! Very thieving of you to wallop the price up by bucket loads like that. The free shipping helped with the purchase cost, but the current exchange rate needs a jolly good nod too. I think The Sartorialist set me back about 30 bucks to the NZ 55. Presents for me!

So, where was I going with any of this? Beats me. My wiggling line of thought just hit a wall.

I think I might go and cheer the husband on - he's currently Fort Knoxing a few cupboards around the house. I think the close call with his expensive earphones lit a wee fire under his ass.

Mwah!